


Requiem

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Cheating, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: Roderich was in paradise.Sometimes when he opened his eyes in the morning, he’d wince at the sunlight filtering through the white linen curtains and wonder if he was still dreaming. His life was something of a dream – it was an ideal, an aspiration.Yet nothing lasted forever.





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This fic features established AusHun. 
> 
> Austria = Roderich  
> Hungary = Erzsébet  
> Prussia = Gilbert  
> Switzerland = Basch  
> Liechtenstein = Erika  
> Poland = Feliks  
> Germany = Ludwig

Roderich was in paradise.

Sometimes when he opened his eyes in the morning, he’d wince at the sunlight filtering through the white linen curtains and wonder if he was still dreaming. His life was something of a dream – it was an ideal, an aspiration. 

Sometimes it hardly seemed real.

When he’d met Erzsébet that summer day six years ago, one chapter of his life had closed behind him, silently, unassumingly. Gone were his days of ridicule, of mere existence; he’d once been the colour of the walls and concrete, resigned to sleep and breathe and eat and do little else, for his interests weren’t interesting and the boy he loved would never return his feelings.

Erzsébet was laughing when Roderich first saw her. There, sitting in a corner of the café, she was laughing with her head thrown back and her eyes sparkling and her voice rippling in her throat, and he fell in love.

Perhaps nothing would have come of it. 

But Roderich was the luckiest man in the world.

\---

His life soared after that.

Suddenly his cabinet was overflowing with trophies and Roderich didn’t know where to put them. He won piano competition after competition, did exceedingly well in his music conservatory, and graduated the top of his year. 

He kissed Erzsébet for the first time before his first public performance, and kissed her a second time after it was met with thunderous applause. His name was splashed in bright colours on the covers of magazines; people raved about him, went to concerts for him, and rooted enthusiastically for him. 

Three years later, Erzsébet walked down the aisle towards him. When Roderich threw back her veil his breath caught in his throat, for she was crying.

His wife raised a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I’m so happy,” she whispered. “God, I’m so happy.”

And Erzsébet flung her arms around Roderich’s neck and kissed him hard, hard on the lips as the ballroom erupted in cheers.

Nothing could go wrong that night. Nothing did. 

But nothing lasted forever.

\---

Erzsébet kissed him goodbye in the morning.

“Honey, I’ll be back at four,” she said, nudging his shoulder gently before walking away. “Don’t practice too hard, okay?”

Roderich’s hands stilled on the piano keys. An unwelcome feeling rose in his chest, which he struggled to ignore. “Where are you going, again?”

“Feliks’,” his wife called from the doorway. “I’m going dress shopping with him. He’s really good for dress shopping since he’s a fashion designer, remember?” The leather soles of her honey-yellow stilettos squeaked as she slid her feet into them. “Don't worry, darling, I’m not cheating on you,” said Erzsébet, winking playfully.

“I’m not jealous.” But to Roderich’s dismay, the ugly emotion only coiled more tightly in the pit of his stomach. “You’ve just been going out a lot lately. You went to meet Gilbert last week, and the week before that – ”

She crossed the room towards him. “Well, I’m not going to see Gilbert again,” his wife said, frowning. “I told you about what happened. And, well, you’re always hard at work here practicing the piano, and you don’t like being disturbed when you practice, so I don’t have anything better to do, you know?” 

Erzsébet smiled at him then, and whatever lingering resentment Roderich might have felt melted into shame. The sunlight streaming in from the window danced merrily on her brown hair, which was as soft and lustrous as ever – she was his beautiful, wonderful wife, and he was wrong to have ever doubted her.

She’d always been too good for him, anyway.

“We used to go out together,” he said, a little stubbornly. “I loved going out with you.”

His wife tilted her head. “And we will,” she whispered, “tomorrow, for our second anniversary. We’ll go out in the morning, and spend the day walking the streets, revisiting all the places where we used to hang out. We’ll have lunch, and later we’ll have dinner at our favourite restaurant, and then we’ll go home and have lots of fun, I promise.” She laughed, and reached out to smooth his hair. “I’ve been doing some ‘research’, dear husband of mine, and I have some new tricks up my sleeve. You’ll love it.”

Roderich took her hand from his head, and kissed it. “I love you.”

Erzsébet cupped his cheek. “I love you too.”

But when she left and Roderich sat alone in front of his piano, he couldn’t shake the quiet loneliness that had descended on his body.

\---

He met Basch Zwingli in front of the café.

As Roderich was approaching, he’d noticed Basch staring at a shiny, rainbow-coloured poster that had been taped to the glass door. There was an odd look in Basch’s eyes – Roderich didn’t think he’d ever seen his childhood best friend wear such an expression before – but Basch wheeled to face him when he neared, blocking the poster completely.

“You’re late,” said Basch. His shoulders were tightly drawn together.

“It’s only been one minute,” said Roderich, “and I got lost on the way here, but I’m not going to argue with you about this.” He gestured to the doors. “Should we go in? I’m sure you’ve been melting out here, what with having to wait one extra minute for me, and all. Must have been intolerable. Why didn’t you call me? The guilt would’ve made me arrive thirty seconds earlier.”

Basch shot him one long, irritated look – then he sighed, his gaze falling to the floor. Roderich felt a pang of regret. Perhaps he shouldn’t be making fun of Basch when the other man was already dealing with so much.

They headed into the café, picked the table closest to the air conditioner, and ordered drinks. Neither of them seemed to come up with anything to say for a few minutes – so they fell into silence, idly watching two pigeons hop around on the burning pavement outside. 

“Why don’t they just fly away?” asked Roderich, but Basch only offered a shrug in response. There seemed to be something on his mind – Roderich wondered if perhaps he should attempt to distract his friend from those thoughts. They were unlikely to be pleasant thoughts, after all.

Their drinks arrived – Roderich knew that if he didn’t take the first step they’d just end up leaving in ten minutes without having had a conversation, so he forced himself to open his mouth.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

Basch glanced up from his drink, and looked down again, stirring it listlessly. “Things,” he said vaguely. 

“Your sister?” Roderich prompted. “How is she?”

“Better. The doctors are saying she’ll be fine,” said Basch. He raised his head to glare at the wall behind Roderich. “She’d better be,” he said under his breath.

Roderich leaned forward to pat Basch on the shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he said gently. “Don’t worry. Erika’s a strong girl. She won’t give up. And you mustn’t, either.”

Basch’s eyes darted from Roderich’s hand to his face – then he nodded slightly in thanks, and looked away miserably. As the sun sank a little lower in the sky the sliver of light that had escaped the café’s curtains crept closer, inching towards Basch’s ankle. An old memory swam before Roderich’s eyes – a recollection from when he’d still thought Basch was the top of the world, utterly perfect, effortlessly confident, and endlessly capable. 

They were on the way home from school, and they’d been talking about something meaningless that had long since faded from Roderich’s memory. The setting sun had caught Basch in the face, and Roderich must have made some remark about it, some joke that didn’t matter anymore but that must have been hilarious, since Basch had looked at him and smiled.

His eyes had smiled with him. 

Roderich still remembered the warmth that had flooded his chest, and the flutter of his heartbeat. They’d stopped there, and Roderich had taken one step closer, then another, and reached out to – but Basch pushed him away and demanded to know what he was doing, and Roderich tried to defend himself but didn’t know what to say. As the sun set they said things that they shouldn’t have, and shouted, and blamed each other, and broke apart.

And that was how Roderich had fallen out with the boy he loved.

But that was a long time ago. Somewhere between that time when Basch briefly dated a girl whom he barely seemed to like, and when they finally became friends again years later, Roderich moved on. 

Now he had Erzsébet – and whatever feelings he might have had for Basch were snapped out, gone, vanished into the depths of his memory.

Some things were better off lost to time.

\---

They were saying their goodbyes outside the café when Gilbert made his presence known.

“Piano boy!” The man’s voice was as irritably shrill as ever. “Are you cheating on your wife?” Gilbert’s eyes blazed with amusement – he leaned forward aggressively, grinning like a maniac. “Are you?” he demanded.

Roderich narrowed his eyes. “No,” he snapped. “Stay away from her, and stay away from me.” Gilbert was aggravating, annoying, and absolutely insufferable – he’d only been invited to the wedding at Erzsébet’s insistence, and he’d only been tolerated there at Erzsébet’s insistence, and Roderich couldn’t begin to fathom why she’d put up with him for so long.

He didn’t know of any ex-boyfriends, let alone an ex-boyfriend as irritating as Gilbert, who warranted such kindness. Sometimes he sincerely had to wonder if Erzsébet was –

No. She couldn’t be. 

The man raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You seemed to be getting along pretty well with Mr Zwingli over there.” A bark of a laugh flew from his lips. “Are you planning to cheat on your wife with your best man on your second anniversary?”

“We won’t – ” began Basch, flushing angrily – then he seemed to think better of his response and quickly said, “Leave Roderich alone.”

“How cute,” said Gilbert. 

Roderich glared at him. “I’ll have to leave you here,” he said coolly. “It’s almost three thirty, and I have to be back by four. To welcome my dear wife, of course.”

He nodded at Basch and sidestepped Gilbert, walking swiftly away. Perhaps if he kept up a calm façade, that bastard would lose interest and leave him be. Perhaps if he reminded Gilbert that Erzsébet was a married woman, and that she was Roderich’s wife, the other man would finally –

“I pity her,” said Gilbert. “It must suck to be married to someone as boring as you.”

Something roared in Roderich’s ears.

“I pity _you_ ,” he said, whipping around and striding back to Gilbert, “I pity you because you’re so pathetic.” Their eyes met – suddenly the other man was glowering at Roderich, his hands clenched in fists. “My wife doesn’t love you, and she never will. She hates you. You don’t mean anything to her.” The words tumbled from his lips. “She told me what happened last week.” Gilbert’s eyes widened in shock and Roderich’s heart leapt with glee, for this was it – this was it, he’d beaten Gilbert, he’d won once and for all – “You tried to insult me behind my back, didn’t you?” It was impossible to control the smugness that spilled uncontrollably into his voice. “And my wife didn’t like it, did she?” His voice was a little louder than it needed to be, and people were slowing to watch them – “Did she?” he demanded.

Gilbert didn’t respond.

He shifted where he stood. Roderich watched as his sneaker-clad foot kicked at the pavement, as his arms folded into a tight knot – suddenly Gilbert was blinking rapidly and turning his head to hide his face from Roderich, and the defensive grin on his face faltered for a moment, a little strained –

“Fuck you,” he said. His voice was wobbly. “You ruined everything.”

And Gilbert ran.

\---

The next day, Roderich didn’t think about Gilbert at all.

Slowly, gently, he was roused from his dreams by a warm, sweet voice; by the soft presses of loving kisses on his skin, and the tickle of Erzsébet’s long, silky hair. She smiled at him when he woke up, and let herself fall back onto the white mattress with a satisfying thud – and when Roderich jumped on her she giggled and dove into his embrace, promptly betraying his trust by tickling him relentlessly for the next five minutes.

They had pancakes for breakfast, and after that Roderich played waltzes and tangos as his beautiful wife danced in time with the music, swaying gracefully and leaping energetically as she filled the room. Then they sped to the bedroom, where Erzsébet let Roderich hook her into the delicate flowered dress that she’d picked out with Feliks the day before – and they were out, out of the door, racing through the streets, flush with new love.

They walked the pavements, hand in hand, remarking on things that were entirely normal but that now seemed endlessly fascinating. Erzsébet cooed over everything – the pink magnolia trees dripping with flowers, the romantic arch of the small bridge before them, the two pigeons sitting close to each other on a wire – it was all silly nothingness, but Roderich loved it and didn’t want it to end. His wife’s voice danced in her throat and floated through the calm air, granting everything a new meaning that it never had before and never would have again.

The chocolate cake they had for lunch crumbled deliciously in his mouth. As the sun slowly sank below the horizon, they retraced their steps, visiting each and every place where they’d spent time together in the past – memory after memory rose unbidden in Roderich’s mind, but the images of the past were intangible and the woman before him was warm and real. He drew her into a kiss, then another, and one more – she was his, and he was hers, and the world seemed to still for a moment in simple acknowledgement of this undying truth. 

They sat across from each other for dinner, shivering with anticipation of the night to come, and when they returned Erzsébet locked the door and ushered them to the bedroom, and Roderich quickly forgot where his body ended and hers began. When it was over they climbed into the bathtub, where Roderich scattered rose petals over the warm, welcoming water – they floated there, little red boats in love’s simmering ocean, and Erzsébet plucked one from its path and nestled it in Roderich’s hair.

Once they were dressed he serenaded her one last time, playing gentle ballades and nocturnes as his wife sipped red wine in a chair nearby. 

“I love you, you know,” she said, a little sleepily. “I’m so glad I married you.”

Roderich padded over to her; the floor was cold against his bare feet, but he hardly noticed it. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, and bent to kiss her on the forehead.

Erzsébet smiled at him. Placing her glass of wine on the table, she stepped forward and swept Roderich into a bridal carry – “Off to bed for the two of us, then,” she said gently, and the next thing he knew she was tucking him into bed and climbing in herself. She stayed awake for at least the next ten minutes, and they spent that time gazing at each other and trading “I love you”s, the inexhaustible currency of affection.

But slowly, surely, his wife’s eyes closed – and, as the day drew to a close, she fell back into the realm of dreams.

\---

Perhaps that could have been the end of it.

It’d have been better if that were how it ended. If the call didn’t come, or if he hadn’t noticed it, or if –

But Roderich was awake when he heard the faint sound of Erzsébet’s ringtone. It was one of his recordings, a performance of Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu – he’d recognise it anywhere.

His wife mumbled in her sleep and shifted slightly, but didn’t wake. They were drenched in darkness, cloaked in an absolute silence – but there was an invisible stranger, now, fighting to gain entry into their lives.

Perhaps it’d be better if he simply got this over with.

Reluctant, Roderich slipped out of bed and fumbled for Erzsébet’s phone. He squinted at the bright screen, struggling to input her password, hampered by his blurred, myopic vision – growing increasingly irritated, he didn’t pause to look at the caller’s identity before slamming the phone to his ear and saying, “It’s the middle of the night. What on earth do you want?”

No one answered.

One second, then two – Roderich was ready to end the call when he heard a sharp intake of breath –

And silence.

“Well?” he demanded. “If you don’t say anything, I’m hanging up.”

The person on the other end of the line took another shaky breath.

“I’m hanging – ”

“Why did it have to be you?” whispered Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Roderich’s eyes widened. His heart raced. “What are you – ”

“Why?” Perhaps the connection was bad, for Gilbert’s voice seemed oddly ragged – “Why you? What’s so good about _you_?”

“I’m hanging up.” Roderich gripped his wife’s phone so tightly that his hand began to ache. “Don’t call ag – ”

“Wait!” Gilbert was desperate now, his words panicked. “I just – I need to talk to her.”

Roderich almost laughed. “No.”

“Please.” Gilbert’s voice cracked on the word. “I need to talk to her. Please, please let me talk to her.” His breathing was light and uneven. “I’m begging you. I need to talk to her, I need to talk to her, please, I – ”

Stripped from his overbearing arrogance, Gilbert seemed almost sincere.

Erzsébet moved slightly in her sleep. Roderich gazed at what little he could see of her in the darkness. She didn’t have to listen to whatever Gilbert had to say. She didn’t have to find it in her heart to forgive him all over again. She was too kind for her own good, and she didn’t deserve to be woken up just for this, and –

“I don’t care.”

Roderich didn’t wait for Gilbert to reply. He hung up, set his wife’s phone to silent mode, placed it back on the nightstand and went back to bed.

He slept soundly for a few hours. 

Before the sun had even risen, the loud ringing of the house phone jolted him awake. Roderich stared at the ceiling, blinking in confusion, before it occurred to him that Gilbert was calling yet again. Frustrated, he stormed down to the living room, wrenched the phone from its cradle, and prepared to give that fool a piece of his –

“Gilbert’s dead,” said Ludwig, his voice trembling. “I – I thought you might want to know, Erzsébet. You – you meant a lot to him. I tried to call you, but I couldn’t reach – ”

The phone fell from Roderich’s hand.

\---

They went to the funeral.

Apparently it’d been an accident. Gilbert’s younger brother Ludwig had walked into his brother’s bedroom the next morning only to find the man slumped at a desk, cold and unmoving.

He’d overdosed on drugs.

When Ludwig said so at the funeral, some heartless, callous people sitting at the back turned their heads and spoke in hushed voices to each other. Glaring at them, Ludwig said, “It’s not what you think. He – he asked me to drive him to a party after work that day, and – he’d written on his daily planner like – like he always did. So don’t you DARE – ”

Erzsébet was silent. She stared at the ground, stared at her black heels, and didn’t say a word.

“But he was – when he died,” said Ludwig, his shoulders trembling, “he was unrecognisable. For a moment I didn’t recognise him, because he was – silent. Cold. Holding his phone to his chest like his – like his life depended on it.”

Roderich froze.

“I just wish I knew why,” continued Ludwig, tears streaming down his face. “I just wish – I wish I didn’t always criticise him all the time. I wish – ”

Roderich squeezed his eyes shut.

He longed to slap his hands over his ears, too. He wanted to tune Ludwig out, to stop listening, to drown out his voice, to get up and run away and never come back. For a few fleeting moments he’d felt a wave of relief flood through his body, for if Gilbert hadn’t killed himself, surely Roderich couldn’t have caused his death – 

But if that phone call was what made Gilbert inject himself with drugs and accidentally die, there was no way that Roderich could absolve himself of responsibility.

“I want to thank everyone,” continued Ludwig, his voice halting, “Who – who supported Gilbert. He struggled with drugs for – for a long time, after our mother’s death, and – ”

“Stop it,” Roderich wanted to shout, “Stop it, stop talking – ”

“I know he wasn’t – wasn’t always the best person, but he was in a lot of pain – I apologise to everyone on his behalf, but – “

“Shut up!” Roderich dug his nails into his pants. “Shut up!” His heart pounded at his chest and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, but if he cried out they’d know, they’d all rise in unison, their chairs scraping against the greying tiles, and turn as one to stare at him and stare through him and Erzsébet would hate him and –

“I loved him.” Ludwig buried his head in his hands. “I loved my brother. I never said it to him. I wish I had.”

Roderich was shaking. Suddenly the world seemed to blur around him, and – and this wasn’t real, none of this was real, it couldn’t be – surely this was all just a dream, a bad dream, and when he woke up he’d obey Gilbert’s phone call and this time Gilbert wouldn’t die and –

Something fell on his shoulder.

Roderich’s eyes widened.

It was Erzsébet’s head. Her trembling hands clutched at his jacket; her body shook with muffled sobs as she clung desperately to his body. 

It shouldn’t have been reassuring, but it was. One breath, then another – Roderich’s mind slowly cleared. As he gently patted his wife’s hair, he wondered if everything was going to be fine. If he didn’t let anyone know – if no one ever found out – surely then, no one would think any lesser of him, and Gilbert would be forgotten eventually, and –

Perhaps this was Gilbert’s final revenge on him, Roderich thought darkly.

Now he’d have to hide something from Erzsébet for the first time.

\---

The porcelain vase she threw smashed to pieces on the floor before him.

“You had no right,” shouted Erzsébet, “No right to make my decisions for me!”

She glared at him. Her hair was wild and one strap of her nightdress was slipping off her shoulder and her chest was heaving and her eyes were swollen with tears. “How dare you!” Her voice rose in pitch and suddenly she was shrieking – “How could you? Why, Roderich? Why?” She took a step forward. Roderich cried out a warning but his wife ignored him.

The broken porcelain sank into her feet.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” The tears had started again, running down her white face, eased by the old tear tracks that hadn’t yet dried. Erzsébet stepped forward once more. Now there was blood on the white marble floor. “How could you do this?” 

Roderich froze. His mouth had stopped working. He opened it to speak but no words came out. He gaped at her, soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air.

If only she hadn’t noticed Gilbert’s missed calls. If only she hadn’t looked further a few days later, and realised that the call had actually been answered once, but that she had no memory of doing so herself, and that the only other person around had been –

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault.

Why couldn’t she see that? Why couldn’t she –

“Why do you care about him so much?” screamed Roderich.

Erzsébet stared at him.

“I didn’t mean – ” Roderich scrambled for words to say. He shouldn’t have said that, he shouldn’t have – “I – ”

A smile twisted the corners of his wife’s lips. There was no warmth in it, no love, no affection. It wasn’t anything like the way she’d looked at him that morning on their second anniversary, or even when he’d first kissed her, or –

“Gilbert saved my life,” she said.

Roderich’s eyes widened. 

“You didn’t know, did you?” said Erzsébet. She was still smiling, but the lines of her face were taut with anger. “Well, he saved me. When I was coming home from school one day a man grabbed me and dragged me into an alley and put a knife to my throat.” She laughed. It was a brittle sound. “If Gilbert hadn’t gone in after me and attacked the man and made me run to safety with him, I might not have survived. I might not have lived long enough to marry you.” 

Their eyes met.

“Have _you_ ever done anything like that, Roderich?” asked Erzsébet coldly.

He didn’t know what to say.

“Well, it doesn't matter,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Not for the time being, anyway. I’m leaving.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a nightmare. Surely –

“Don’t look at me like that,” snapped Erzsébet. 

Roderich took a step forward, then another. His feet cried out in agony as he stepped on the porcelain shards but he didn’t care, because he loved her, he loved his wife more than anyone in the world, and she couldn’t leave. She couldn’t. She…

“Please don’t go,” he whispered. He fell painfully to his knees. “Please,” he said, raising his hands to clutch at her nightdress, “Please, please don’t go. I’m sorry. I’ll never say that again. I – ”

She wrenched her clothes from his grasp. “I think we need some time apart,” she said in a low voice, backing away from him, “to re-evaluate our life choices.”

No. He could turn this around. He couldn’t let her leave. “Erzsébet, please, I’m begging – ”

“Enough.” 

And there was nothing that Roderich could do. He watched, rooted in place, as his life fell apart before his eyes – as Erzsébet walked to the bedroom but for the first time he wasn’t welcome to follow her; as she walked to the door, dragging a suitcase behind her, and for the first time he didn’t know where she was planning to go.

She paused at the doorway. Roderich’s heart leapt – perhaps she had a change of heart, and she’d decided to stay, and –

“Don’t follow me,” said his wife.

Then she was gone, vanished from his life, too far for him to reach.

It was only then that Roderich realised what he’d done.

\---

He didn’t sleep that night.

Plans raced through his mind, were abandoned, and cast aside. If he did this, surely – but then – maybe if he did that, instead –

That had to be a way to bring Erzsébet back.

It was his fault – yes, it was his fault, it had to be his fault, for his wife was the most wonderful person he knew and if she hated him, then – then it had to be true. Roderich tried to care about Gilbert, tried to feel guilt over the man’s death, but every time he tried to think about it his thoughts flew elsewhere; it was too horrible to think about and he couldn’t face it, he didn’t want to face it, even though he knew deep down that perhaps if he’d just done what Gilbert had asked, this wouldn’t have happened and Gilbert would be alive and his wife wouldn’t have left him and…

The next day he received a message from Erzsébet.

“I’m at Feliks’ place,” she wrote. “In case there are any emergencies. If not, please don’t contact me. I need some time to myself.”

Feliks’ place, Feliks’ place – where on earth was that? Roderich had no idea. He’d never been there; he’d never gone there with Erzsébet even when she’d offered because he had no patience for the man and he’d never liked him very much and –

So it was his fault once again. 

He grabbed his phone and typed rapidly. “I’m sorry,” he wrote, “I’m sorry, so please forgive me, please come back, please…”

But what if she blocked him? That’d be worse, wouldn’t it? 

Perhaps he should fake an emergency, and –

No, she’d just get even angrier.

Roderich ran to his computer and switched it on. Feliks was a fashion designer, wasn’t he? If he looked the man up online, maybe he’d find some kind of contact information –

But when he called Feliks, there was no answer. 

So there was nothing that he could do.

\---

He ate what he saw in the refrigerator.

It wasn’t appetizing, but Erzsébet had always been the one cooking and Roderich hadn’t ever learned. He really was useless without her. It just went to show, didn’t it, how much better she’d always been. 

He spent the day playing the piano. He was supposed to give an overseas concert in two months but he wasn’t practicing – instead he slammed the keys, banging out whatever came to his mind and attacking the notes furiously. When he grew tired he checked his phone once more.

There was a message from Feliks.

“I know you’re like upset and stuff. But uh I think maybe you should leave Erzsi alone for now. Like give her space, ok?”

Roderich wondered why he disliked every single one of Erzsébet’s male friends.

He paced the room, furious with himself, clenching and unclenching his fists. Why was he such an idiot? If only he could go back and do it again, and obey that goddamned call – then Erzsébet wouldn’t have left him, and Gilbert would still be alive, and she wouldn’t have left him to stay at another man’s house, and everything would be –

The doorbell rang. 

Roderich ignored it. Surely it was just some stupid salesperson who would give up eventually if he didn’t answer the door. But it rang again, and again, piercing the house with its shrill metallic shriek, and Roderich glared in its direction and silently dared whoever it was to ring one more time –

“Roderich Edelstein!” 

It was Basch.

“Open the door right now!”

Perhaps Roderich could have outlasted a salesperson – but he knew Basch well enough to know that the other man wouldn’t give up so easily.

It’d be easier to just get it over with.

The door swung open and Basch stood there before him, his pale face framed in the doorway. “I heard about what happened – ” he began, but suddenly he looked down and his eyes widened and he stepped forward and exclaimed, “You’re injured!”

Roderich followed Basch’s gaze. His pants were bloody at the knees from when he’d fallen on the shards of porcelain.

And Erzsébet hadn’t even seemed to care.

Basch entered the house and shut the door behind him, twisting the lock. “Where’s your first aid kit?” he demanded, walking in and surveying his surroundings. “Well?” he prompted, when Roderich didn’t immediately respond. 

“Bathroom.”

He wanted Basch to leave. He wanted to be left alone, not to have to sit and smile and nod and pretend that everything was okay. 

This was ridiculous.

Basch returned within seconds, watching Roderich with disapproval.

Then there was nothing left to do but follow instructions, to nod dumbly and move his hands to get it over with. 

Yet perhaps Roderich would’ve found the experience of having his wounds bandaged more tolerable if Basch hadn’t felt the need to talk to him while doing so. “I heard about what happened,” the other man said, dabbing gently at a cut. “Are you…alright?”

The ointment stung, and Roderich winced. “Well, what do you think?” he said, unable to hide his agitation. “Do I look alright to you? Are you blind?”

Basch’s hands stilled. Slowly, he raised his head, and looked at Roderich. 

Distantly, the memory of those eyes swam into Roderich’s mind once more. There was a kindness in them – a compassion that was normally hidden, an empathy that rarely made itself known. His anger faded, slowly, surely, like the tide washing away after a storm. Then the shame settled firmly in the pit of his stomach, twisting and turning and itching at his palms.

“Sorry,” he said, but Basch shook his head. “It’s alright,” he said. “It was a stupid question.” 

They sat there in silence for a while, Roderich’s injuries temporarily forgotten. Now Basch was the only person that Roderich had, just like old times – it’d always just been the two of them, from childhood till adulthood, and perhaps this was alright for the time being. If anything happened, if Roderich’s life came crumbling down and everyone else abandoned him, Basch would be there to offer him a hand. He’d always be there. 

Wasn’t that what best friends were for?

“Don’t worry,” said Basch quietly. He wasn’t looking at Roderich anymore; now he was staring into space, seemingly lost in thought. “She’ll – she’ll come back to you,” he said. There was a certain hesitance, perhaps even reluctance, in his voice. 

He sighed, and shifted in his seat. “It’ll be all right,” he said firmly, glancing at Roderich’s face for a long moment before turning his attention back to the injuries. 

They didn’t speak after that. Basch had never seemed to like Erzsébet very much – yet he’d always remained civil with her, and Roderich had never quite gotten around to asking him what his problem was. Basch had accepted the post of best man at their wedding immediately, after all, and it didn’t matter if Roderich’s wife and best friend didn’t get along, since they didn’t really interact –

So Roderich didn’t ask.

Some things were better left in the past.

But when Basch was about to leave, he lingered in the doorway.

“Roderich,” he said, shaking his umbrella open, “Please take care of yourself.”

It was raining now, loudly, draining the night of its colour and blurring the dark forms of distant trees. The wind howled in the blackness, tore its claws through Basch’s jacket and sleeves and hair, and battered itself against the windows. 

“Look – ” Basch frowned, shifted where he stood, and finally said, “Don’t ruin your health over this. Please.”

“What do you – ”

“She isn’t worth it,” said Basch suddenly. After a few moments he seemed to realise what he’d just said and quickly opened his mouth but the storm roared behind him, drowning out his last, strained words. His hand tightened on the doorway – then he nodded in farewell, raised his umbrella and stepped out into the rain.

And Basch disappeared into the darkness.

\---

Roderich was in hell.

The days that followed Erzsébet’s departure seemed to drag on, endlessly, heavily, with no conclusion in sight. Her presence seemed to haunt every corner of their house – sometimes Roderich would hear her humming in the kitchen or dancing in the living room or laughing in the garden, but when his heart raced and he tore in her direction, she wasn’t there.

His limbs were heavy. The knowledge of what he’d done, of what he’d failed to do, seemed to shackle his wrists and ankles – sometimes he could almost hear the scrape of it, of the hard metal chains against the cold floor. When he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep the nightmares would throw him, kicking and screaming, back to the waking world – and no amount of tossing and turning and tearstained pillows could put him down to eternal rest.

Basch told him that what happened wasn’t his fault.

“Before this, she didn’t ever explain why Gilbert meant so much to her, did she?” he’d said one evening, his gaze piercing from across the dining table. “If your wife had simply told you that Gilbert once saved her life, you’d have been more appreciative of him. After all, it was always clear that you didn’t like him, and didn’t understand why she kept him around. If she’d just explained herself, you’d have hated him less, and this wouldn’t have happened.” Basch leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It’s not your fault,” he said, his voice rising, “if your wife’s own failings and the sheer arrogance of the man himself gave you no reason to humour his request.”

It was a convenient explanation, but it felt good to believe in it, to absolve himself of all blame and guilt and responsibility. It wasn’t Roderich’s fault after all – Basch believed in him, and if Basch did, then surely he wasn’t in the wrong.

Surely –

But Roderich missed Erzsébet. He missed the sound of her footsteps on the stairs; he missed the warm smell of her pancakes; he missed the cool ripple of her laughter, the sparkle of her eyes, the curve of her smile.

He missed having someone who loved him.

\---

He couldn’t hate her.

In Roderich’s eyes Erzsébet had always been everything he wasn’t – smart, funny, capable, strong, and effortlessly attractive. She was a paragon of virtue, a goddess of love and beauty, someone who should be loved and respected and worshipped.

If she’d frustrated him, that meant he simply wasn’t appreciative enough.

If she’d left him, that meant he simply wasn’t good enough.

And Erzsébet had always done her own thing. She surrounded herself with men because she was popular with them and they were her friends. She was wild, exciting, daring, passionate – it was a miracle that she’d settled down with Roderich and not with another, better man.

Sometimes Roderich wished that she’d stop spending time with other men. Sometimes he’d hear her voice, hear her tell Gilbert or Feliks how useless and weak and boring he was, and then he’d wake up and see her sleeping figure next to him in bed and remind himself that she loved only him and she wasn’t going anywhere.

But that was before she’d left.

Now she didn’t sleep by his side, anymore.

\---

Roderich wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

His cabinet of wine sat unassumingly in a corner, gleaming quietly, completely undisturbed. Inside his bottles glimmered in the darkness; there they waited, in breathless anticipation, for him to reach in and take them.

It would be so easy to drink himself to oblivion. Perhaps he should –

The shrill cry of the doorbell snapped through the silence. 

Roderich’s hand froze before the tarnished metal cabinet handle; he looked up, cursing, wondering if Basch had decided to come again.

The doorbell shrieked once more.

Well, he’d better get it over with. 

Roderich strode to the door and fumbled with the lock; he flung it open, said, “Close the door behind you,” and walked back inside.

A pair of footsteps followed him into the house. “What’s wrong?” said Basch, locking the door. His pace quickened as he hurried towards Roderich. “Are you alright?”

Roderich laughed. “I’m going to help myself to my wine collection,” he said, stepping into the kitchen and retrieving a glass. “I mean, what’s the point of letting wine age if you don’t drink it?” Then he paused, thinking – “You should have some too,” he said, “Since you’re here, and all. I know you live an hour away, so I honestly don’t know why you bother coming so often – ”

“I care about you,” said Basch.

Roderich fell silent. 

Slowly, Basch closed the distance between them. He hesitated for a long moment – then he looked Roderich in the eye and said, “I don’t think you should be drinking.”

“I’m not going to drink myself to death,” said Roderich. “Here – ” he handed Basch a glass – “Join me.” 

Basch frowned. “No – ”

“You’re not stopping me,” said Roderich, stepping around his friend and moving towards the living room. “I’m going to drink, whether you like it or not. The least you could do is join me.”

He wasn’t being a particularly good friend, but Roderich was giddy and his head was spinning and he didn't really care about anything anymore. When the wine touched his lips and sank into his body, perhaps he’d be able to forget, for just a moment – if all his worries and anxieties and nightmares could flood away for just one night, then maybe there was a chance that he’d find the strength to survive the next few days.

Maybe he’d feel like himself again.

To his surprise, Basch didn’t try to stop him. He watched silently as Roderich retrieved a Cabernet Sauvignon from his wine cabinet, removed the wrapper, and tried to twist it open. At his third try Basch took the bottle from him and unscrewed it in one attempt. 

It wasn’t a surprise. Basch had always been stronger than Roderich, after all.

Everyone was.

They drank deeply, gazed at the grand piano gleaming in the centre of the room, and didn’t look at each other. After a few minutes Roderich said something about the flavour of the wine and Basch commented on the supposed hidden notes within it, which Roderich couldn’t taste at all.

At the far end of the room, the white curtains fluttered in the cool breeze that the starry night had blown in. Basch and Roderich began to talk to each other, haltingly, then rapidly – suddenly they were reliving their childhood memories, speaking of the days when life was simple and Roderich wasn’t a concert pianist and Basch’s sister hadn’t been hospitalised.

Everything had made sense back then.

They finished their glasses, and refilled them, and finished them once more. Together, the wine and the conversation made Roderich’s doubts slip to the back of his mind before he was even tipsy – slowly, then all at once, warmth blossomed in his chest and the room seemed unnaturally hot. Suddenly he felt alive, young, carefree – it didn’t matter if Erzsébet was gone, or if he was responsible for Gilbert’s death – this moment was wonderful, and god, he didn’t want it to end.

Then they were talking about their high school graduation, and Roderich stumbled to his feet to search for a copy of the yearbook to point out some ridiculous senior quotes – Basch laughed then, for the first time in what had to be months – but they didn’t seem to be in the living room.

Right, he’d put it in the bedroom. “Gimme a moment,” mumbled Roderich thickly.

And he staggered off in that direction.

He giggled to himself as he walked, swaying slightly, his feet unsteady. Why was the yearbook in the bedroom, again? Surely that wasn’t the place he’d first put it. What kind of person kept their yearbook in their bedroom, anyway? It didn’t make –

The bedroom door stared him in the face, and Roderich remembered.

He’d been showing those quotes to Erzsébet. 

They’d been lying in bed, talking through the night, and –

No, no, no, he wasn’t going to think about it. He wasn’t going to think about her. He’d been so close to forgetting – so close to enjoying himself for the first time in weeks, and this wasn’t going to ruin it. He wouldn’t let it.

Roderich kicked the door open and groped for the light switch in the darkness, but when the lights snapped on and he stared at their empty bed all his thoughts came flying back. Erzsébet had laid on that bed with him for two years, slept there and dreamt there and kissed him there. Without her, it wasn’t complete. 

Without her, it meant nothing.

Roderich tore his eyes away from it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now, not when she was gone and he couldn’t reach her. He stumbled to their closet and opened the door and moved the contents around – the yearbook was nowhere in sight but he didn’t care anymore, for he’d already stopped trying to find it. Instead he gazed at Erzsébet’s things, at her dresses and her skirts and her towels. He ran his hands over them, traced their edges and bent his head to breathe in what was left of her scent – she was gone, gone where he couldn’t reach her, but she’d been here once, and this was what was left of her, this was all that was left of her, this was all that he had left of her –

He buried his head in her soft white bathrobe, and cried.

\---

Minutes passed. 

At long last Roderich raised his head, his shoulders heaving, and stared blankly into the depths of the closet –

And his eyes fell upon the corner of a white postcard. 

He snatched it in an instant. It wasn’t something he recognised, and if he didn’t know what it was, it had to be hers – and if it was hers, he had to know what it was, to capture every little lingering piece of her, to…

Roderich’s eyes widened.

“Love, Erzsi”. 

He dropped the postcard.

It was signed, “Love, Erzsi”.

No. This couldn’t be. Roderich wrenched the card from the floor and tried to make sense of the rest of it but his heartbeat was hammering in his ears and he couldn’t breathe and his hands were shaking. “I miss you very much, dear,” he read – “Roderich’s always practicing, and I love having fun with you…I hope you like this postcard – I bought it at a shop near my house, and it reminded me of you…”

Suddenly he spotted more postcards in the closet and he leapt at them with a cry, dragging them out and wrenching them before his eyes – all of the rest seemed to be from Feliks: “Love, Feliks”, the man had signed each and every one of them. 

Roderich screamed.

All those years of jealousy and bad dreams had been justified after all, hadn’t they? She’d been cheating on him. Of course she’d been cheating on him. 

He’d never been good enough for a girl like her, had he?

“R – Roderich!” 

Someone staggered into the room, but Roderich didn’t care. He lunged for a postcard, tore it in half, then another, and another –

Then two hands were restraining him by the shoulders and two green eyes were looking into his own and Basch’s flushed, frightened face stared back at Roderich in shock. “What happened?” he asked, his expression tight – “What – what happened, Roderich?” 

“She was cheating on me!” roared Roderich, grabbing Basch’s arms and digging his nails into them – “She was cheating on me the entire time with fucking Feliks Łukasiewicz and I never knew!”

Basch’s eyes widened. For a moment Roderich could’ve sworn that he saw a glimmer of recognition in the other man’s face – then Basch shook his head and looked at him in confusion and asked, “Why – why do you think so?”

And Roderich threw the postcards in his face. 

As Basch raised them to his eyes, squinting through his inebriation, Roderich stood up slowly. “You know him, don’t you?” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at his friend. He didn’t have any real basis for this claim, but – 

Basch froze.

“Tell me!” When Basch didn’t respond, Roderich reached down to grip his shoulders – “Tell me if he was having an affair with my wife! Tell me!” Please say no, please deny it, please say that I’m wrong – “Tell me, dammit!”

But when Basch rose and the postcards fall to the floor and he slowly, hesitantly, met Roderich’s eyes –

“I don’t – I don’t know,” he said quietly, swaying where he stood.

And Roderich’s world fell to pieces.

He didn’t know what to do. “I’m going to kill him,” he snarled, “I’m going to go there and I’m going to – ” Roderich didn’t know what he was saying, didn’t know what he was doing, but suddenly Basch had closed in on him and he was looking straight into Basch’s eyes once again.

“Don’t,” whispered Basch, his eyes wide, holding Roderich in place.

Neither of them moved. Roderich’s chest was so tight that he could hardly speak, or think, or breathe; his mouth tasted like sandpaper, and his legs seemed to be made out of concrete…

And he suddenly realised just how close Basch’s face was to his own.

They stared at each other. The flush of wine was rosy on Basch’s fair skin; his eyes were dark and his pupils were blown and his shoulders rose and fell with his light, fast breaths –

Was this how Erzsébet had looked at Feliks when she’d fled to him that day?

If so, he –

Roderich threw Basch against the closet and kissed him.

For a moment nothing happened. Basch stood there paralysed, perhaps too horrified to even move –

And then he was kissing Roderich back, and his hands were tangling in Roderich’s hair, and roaming across his chest; his mouth tasted of wine and when they pulled apart his shuddering breaths burned Roderich’s cheek but it didn’t matter at all.

He didn’t love Basch.

But he had to get revenge on Erzsébet, he had to, he had to hurt her the way she’d hurt him, he had to make her pay for everything that she’d done.

The thought of her name made his ears roar with sound. Hot blood pounded through his body and cold fury burned in his chest – suddenly he was seeing Erzsébet before him instead, seeing her red lips and her bare throat and her white skin stretched over her collarbones, and Roderich lunged forward to bite her in the neck. Someone cried out and shrank against the closet in pain but Roderich ignored the nails digging into his back in response and bit harder. She deserved it, deserved all of it, for betraying him, for not belonging to him, for –

It was only when he tasted the metallic tang of blood that he drew back.

The image of Erzsébet flickered before his eyes, wavered, and faded away. Basch stared back at him instead; a thin red line was tracing its slow way down the curve of his neck. “I’m sorry,” Roderich tried to say, but Basch’s eyes blazed and he stepped forward and roughly shoved Roderich backwards. 

Then they were on the bed and Basch was bending over him, gasping for breath, his arms trembling – “Roderich,” he whispered, “Roderich, Roderich – ” 

And that was how the affair began.

\---

The next day was a blur.

Roderich was ashamed, at first – then the memory of Erzsébet’s betrayal flashed vividly in his mind once again and suddenly he hardly cared about what he’d done.

Basch tried to leave immediately. When Roderich stopped him Basch stared at him in shock, his face pale, his eyes wild. Slowly, he turned his head to look at the door, which he could easily run out of – then he looked hesitantly back, as though Roderich represented an inescapable force that, slowly and steadily, was reeling him helplessly away from safety.

A headache drummed at Roderich’s temples. At that moment he didn’t have the patience to wonder why his childhood friend seemed so utterly lost.

“Let’s do it again,” he said.

Basch watched him uncomprehendingly for a moment – then all at once his entire body flooded with tension. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. His voice was strained. “Why are you doing this?” His frightened eyes darted from Roderich’s face to the door, before returning inevitably once more. 

He didn’t move.

Roderich could almost hear Basch asking himself why he was still there.

But before Basch could bring himself to leave, Roderich stepped forward and closed in on him and kissed him again.

It wasn’t the way he’d kissed Erzsébet, all those times over all those years in all those places. There was no love in this kiss, no affection, no warmth. It was simply clear to Roderich that this was what had to be done – that this was what he had to do, to prevent Basch from fleeing, to do to Erzsébet what she had done to him.

And it wasn’t like Basch was passively accepting this, either. When he returned the kiss he did it with a hunger, a desperation – he pulled Roderich towards him with such strength that for a moment it was unclear as to who was trapped and who was free. 

There was a transaction going on between them. They both needed something from the other – and they were both aware of it, and they had both given in to it. But even as he took everything out on Basch, even as he unleashed his anger and his pain and his resentment against that too-strong, too-masculine body, Roderich felt nothing.

Even vengeance was empty, now.

\---

He made mistakes, repeatedly, in his first major concert since Erzsébet leaving him.

They weren’t bad enough to see him booed offstage, and most of the audience didn’t seem to notice either way – but Roderich knew, and Roderich heard each wrong note scream in his ears, and Roderich hated himself for it. The music had left him. He played, but there was no beauty in his playing; his fingers moved but there was no feeling in it. The pain and longing of Chopin gave way to notes on a score. Roderich had to play louder here, to be softer there, to speed up over there – that was all there was to it. That was all that he had left.

It was a mockery of music.

He vented it all on Basch that night but stopped, horrified, when he discovered the bruise on Basch’s jaw. He’d never been that strong before – he’d never dreamed that he could inflict such an injury on someone.

But Basch only winced, shook it off, and leaned forward to embrace Roderich once more. They didn’t speak of it at all, and when Basch buttoned his collar to hide the bite mark from the day before Roderich didn’t know how he was going to explain this new injury away. 

And Roderich wondered what had happened to both of them.

\---

Cheating was nothing like how Roderich had thought it’d be.

It wasn’t thrilling to look at Basch’s flushed face or exposed nape, or to kiss his Adam’s apple. It wasn’t exciting to watch him slip into what had once been Erzsébet’s side of the bed, because he didn’t belong there and Roderich knew it and Basch knew it as well.

The entire affair was mechanical. They did everything that lovers did, but with no love in it such that all Roderich felt was a dull satisfaction and nothing more. It didn’t make him happy to cheat on his wife. He didn’t derive any joy from cheating on his wife. There was nothing good about it apart from a fleeting physical pleasure, and even that wasn’t something that he’d had to cheat on her to enjoy in the first place.

Frankly, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

But Roderich continued. Initially it’d been anger that drove him forward – then it was emptiness, and finally a grim determination to finish what he’d started. He hadn’t gone back to look at the postcards again, since it had to be true and even if it wasn’t it was too late to go back. There was nothing left to him but ashes and dust; and kissing Basch, as empty as the action was, remained the only act of rebellion that Roderich could endure.

He thought of Erzsébet often, wondered if she was having more fun cheating on him than he was having cheating on her. It was a thought that enraged him, but there was nothing Roderich could do about it save hold Basch more tightly and kiss him till their lips ached. 

Perhaps she’d been cheating on him with Gilbert as well. He wouldn’t put it past her now. If Gilbert had always been so much better than Roderich, it only made sense. It was absolutely, perfectly logical. It simply had to be true.

Why had Erzsébet even married him to begin with? All he could do was play the piano better than most – and it wasn’t even something that he was good at, now that she’d left him and he’d lost whatever little talent he’d once had. He’d seen her one day and fallen in love, but why had she eventually found it in herself to return that love? Why hadn’t she cast him aside for another, better man? 

It didn't make sense – but Roderich supposed he’d never understood Erzsébet in the first place.

Yet in some odd, indefinable way, she was still sacred to him. Roderich tried not to look at her furniture and her clothes and her plants, because they were hers and every trace of her in the house, no matter how insubstantial, was overwhelming.

When Basch inadvertently used her towel Roderich screamed at him.

And then they’d shouted at each other, and said things that they didn’t mean, and Roderich had dissolved into tears and Basch apologised but didn’t seem to know what to say. Then he’d left, and he’d returned two days later, and they’d both pretended to have forgotten about the incident in each other’s presence.

They were strangers now – they hardly knew each other anymore. When Roderich looked at Basch he saw only a body, to be used and put out of sight only to be used again when it next stepped before him. The friend he’d grown up with had disappeared into the harsh edges of Basch’s exposed shoulder blades. The boy he’d once loved was gone, as well – those green eyes held no breathless whisper of lost love for Roderich now.

And Roderich couldn’t bring himself to meet those eyes anymore.

Once, when Basch buried his head in Roderich’s shoulder, he’d showered it with poorly-suppressed tears instead of kisses; he was shaking, but in pain instead of passion, and when Roderich asked what was wrong Basch whispered between shuddering sobs that he didn’t know if his sister was going to make it out of the hospital alive.

As Roderich sat there, holding his once-friend close to him because that was the only thing he knew how to do, it occurred to him that he hadn’t asked after the health of Basch’s sister for the past few weeks. It was something that he’d remembered to do for two whole years – every other time he’d seen Basch he’d say, “How’s your sister” or “Is everything alright” to the point that Basch told him that he didn’t have to keep asking.

“But – thanks for caring,” Basch had said softly, looking away. “And thanks for…always reaching out to me.” Back then Roderich had made it a point to call his friend at least once per week, because he knew Basch and he knew that Basch tended to bottle up his feelings and not go to anyone for help. “It – I know I don’t say this often, but it really means a lot to me.”

Roderich wondered if he was now as unrecognisable to Basch as Basch was to him.

\---

One day, Basch didn’t show up.

Roderich waited, and practiced the piano, and waited, and went to bed alone. If Basch were arriving for any other reason, Roderich would have called; but Roderich felt distant from his childhood friend now, foreign, alien. It was as though they lived in separate worlds, only swatting at each other occasionally to exchange blows and not words; and calling Basch to ask where he was seemed almost an affirmation of Roderich’s betrayal, which he didn’t want to dwell on.

Basch didn’t appear the next day either, or the next, or the day after that. Roderich hadn’t attempted to contact him, but somehow he already knew what had happened. His heart sank when he thought about it. 

When he read the obituary in the newspaper, it was already too late.

A true friend would’ve gone straight to Basch’s house to help him through his grief, but Roderich didn’t have the right to do so anymore. What kind of person started an affair with their oldest friend? They weren’t friends anymore; they were cheaters, together, both of them, colluding in sin. It didn’t matter that Erzsébet had done it first – Roderich and Basch, however moral and righteous they’d thought they were and pretended to be, had ceased to be good people by any stretch of the imagination. They were cheaters, and cheaters were condemned by the world. They’d lost the right to their old friendship the first time they’d kissed. 

That was why Roderich didn’t visit Basch.

Or, rather, that was why he didn’t go immediately. Whatever he’d done, whatever they’d done to each other, Roderich couldn’t shake the worry that gnawed at his insides. Even thoughts of Erzsébet momentarily slipped from his mind as he remembered how much Basch loved his little sister, and how he’d panicked when he’d once received a call from the hospital when he was with Roderich, and how he must be feeling at the moment.

That was how he found himself at Basch’s door, a one-hour journey later, ringing the doorbell and glancing around to see if anyone was watching him.

No one answered.

Roderich paused to stare at the edelweiss that were wilting in their pots, and rang again.

No one answered.

Roderich rang once more. “Open the door,” he shouted, “It’s Roderich.” But then he was already a few days too late, and perhaps Basch had already given up on him coming. Perhaps Basch hadn’t wanted him to show his face at all. After all, Roderich had long since lost sight of the man he used to be – had forgotten how to be kind, how to love, how to express any emotion other than rage.

But the door opened.

Basch stood there, framed in the doorway, utterly dwarfed by its arch. His face was pale and his normally striking eyes were lifeless, reddened by what had to be nights of crying.

And yet his voice was firm. “Come in,” he said. “But I don't want to – ”

“I’m not here for that,” said Roderich quickly. If anything, it wouldn’t surprise him if their affair was completely dead, gone forever, never to be spoken of again. 

Roderich sat down on the sofa and took in the papers scattered in a corner, the empty mugs of what had once been coffee lying unwashed on the table, and the pots of wilting flowers dying on various surfaces. Basch stared at him blankly for a moment – then, remembering himself, asked if Roderich wanted coffee. Roderich shook his head. They stared at each other for some time, before Basch shuffled towards a chair and dropped himself into it. No one said a word. Then –

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Roderich.

It was a terrible thing to say, but he didn’t know what else to do. There was no way that any amount of words could attempt to address the depth of Basch’s grief – Roderich knew that, but there was nothing else to say, nothing else between them that could even make those words sincere, or even anything but mechanical.

He’d have been able to do it in the past. But everything was different, now.

Something broke in Basch’s expression. Roderich watched as the other man’s breathing sped up, as the threat of tears shone in his eyes, as he pulled himself back together with a visible effort and nodded stiffly in recognition of Roderich’s meaningless words.

They lapsed into silence once again. 

Suddenly Basch looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’m leaving you.”

It wasn’t a surprise. “That’s fine,” said Roderich, feeling nothing. When Erzsébet had left he’d cried and begged, but he didn’t love Basch and he’d seen this coming. “Don’t worry about it.”

Something burst to life in Basch’s eyes. “I’m glad that you don’t care,” he said. “I didn’t think you did, but sometimes I – hoped that you did. But I knew it all along. And I was right.”

Roderich stared at him. For a moment he tried to trick himself into believing that he didn’t know what Basch meant – but he couldn’t lie to himself and he couldn’t not admit that, gradually, he’d caught on.

He knew why Basch hadn’t been able to leave him. 

“But it doesn’t matter anymore,” said Basch, his eyes blazing, his voice rising. “And I’m leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.”

Somehow Roderich’s reply seemed to aggravate Basch – for a moment he seemed to glare at Roderich, and his hands tightened on the armrests, but the moment passed and he steadied his breathing once again. 

“Do you know what my sister told me, before she died?” Whatever calm Basch had forced upon himself quickly dissipated as his expression grew pained once more. “She said that she wanted me to be happy. She said that it was all she wanted. For me to find – happiness.” He choked on the last word, swallowed it, as though he couldn’t bear to speak it. “I haven’t been happy for a long time,” said Basch rapidly, “Sometimes I wonder if I even know what it feels like, to be happy, and not worried about anything. And I don’t know if I can find happiness. It honestly feels impossible.” 

Roderich tried to mould his expression into something soothing. “I believe in – ”

“But I know what makes me unhappy.” Basch looked at him. “That’s why I can’t keep up this affair. Back then I should have walked away and never gotten myself into it. But – ” They stared at each other, all too aware of everything that they’d done. “I couldn’t. I let you use me. And I used you.”

And that was how their friendship had ended – in one fell swoop, in one bad decision, in one single night.

It was too late for regret. All they could do was live on, with the knowledge of what they’d done to each other, with the knowledge that they’d never be able to go back.

Roderich rose to go, but Basch shook his head.

“Wait,” he said. Everything was already out in the open – but there was an odd look in Basch’s face; a look that he’d only seen once, weeks ago, when it’d all began.

It was an expression that Roderich saw in the mirror every day.

“There’s – one last thing that I – ” He hesitated.

Silence. Roderich waited, but Basch didn’t seem capable of speaking. There could surely only be one more thing, what both of them knew but was better left unsaid, that was bothering him – growing impatient and hating himself for doing so, Roderich said, “Is it that…that you were in – ”

“I lied to you.”

Basch’s shoulders were rigid. His entire body was still like a statue. The weight of his confession seemed to bear down on him, pressing at his back. He didn’t seem to know where to look.

Roderich raised his eyebrows. “Lied?” He couldn’t think of an occasion when Basch had the chance to lie to him. “You lied to me?” Mentally he combed through all of their past conversations, all of his memories with Basch, and realised with a growing horror that perhaps –

“Your wife isn’t cheating on you,” said Basch quietly.

And then Roderich was yelling and his heart was battering at his chest and the room was swimming before his eyes and he was grabbing the front of Basch’s shirt and shaking him. “What are you talking about?” he shouted, “What are you – ”

Basch stared at the floor.

“You once claimed,” he said, “that I knew Feliks – Feliks Łukasiewicz. You asked me if – if he was having an affair with your wife. I reflexively said that I didn’t know. The truth is that I do know him. I met him at a…bar, and I was seeing him for some time. He isn’t – he isn’t attracted to women. He’s gay.” 

Roderich couldn’t breathe. His entire body was shaking. Suddenly he had the urge to hit Basch, to punch him in the face, but all at once the strength flooded from him and he could barely feel his limbs and he collapsed on the floor in a heap. 

Tears streamed down his face.

“Fuck you,” he whispered, “Fuck you.” So Erzsébet hadn’t been cheating on him all this time, and she hadn’t been lying and everything he’d thought about her had just been a reflection of his own stupid jealousy – “How could you do this to me?” he cried, groping for something, anything to throw at Basch. “How could you?” His hand landed on a remote controller and he hurled it at Basch’s face. It missed and clanged against a vase, knocking it over and shattering it with a loud crash. “I thought I could trust you! How could you do this to me?”

“It was reflexive,” said Basch quickly – “It was instinctive, because then I’d have to explain why I knew that he wasn’t having an affair with your wife and I wasn’t ready to tell you that I – that I – ” He froze. It was as though he were terrified of the words that he couldn’t even say.

“I don’t care about your fucking insecurities!” screamed Roderich. 

And Basch flinched as though he’d been slapped.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rising furiously, “that I lied to you. I know that I shouldn’t have lied to you. And after that I didn’t want you to leave because I was in love with you.” Basch was blinking hard now, clearly struggling to fight the tears that were filling his eyes. 

Whenever he’d felt hurt or vulnerable Basch had always closed in on himself like this, shielded himself with anger to protect himself from further pain. “But I think you should examine yourself,” he shouted, “because if you hadn’t convinced yourself that your wife was cheating on you in the first place, none of this would have happened. If you weren’t so insecure, none of this would have happened. You showed me the postcards,” he said, his hands in trembling fists, “and I saw nothing in them that deviated from that woman’s usual behaviour. She’d always been over-affectionate with everyone. _You_ should have known that better than anyone!” 

It was true.

Of course it was true. 

Roderich had simply convinced himself otherwise.

“Get out,” snarled Basch, “And don’t come back.” He was crying. “Get out!”

Roderich stumbled into the streets. The door slammed behind him. He walked, aimlessly, not seeing anything, not hearing anything, too far gone to even notice when cars swerved around him, their drivers cursing at his incompetence. He walked, not knowing where he was or what he was doing or when he would stop. He walked, swaying, already dead, not even a ghost, far removed from this existence.

Somehow his feet carried him back home.

He sank to the floor.

And didn’t move.

\---

He barely functioned.

Roderich ate what was left in the fridge. When Basch had been visiting, he’d occasionally brought food, but that was over now. They wouldn’t see each other ever again.

He’d lost his oldest friend.

And he would lose Erzsébet too, if she ever decided to return. Roderich didn’t know what she’d seen in him, but once she found out about the cheating she’d leave him forever. She could do better than him. She might not have Feliks, but within a year she’d probably find another man, someone dependable with morals and integrity who wouldn’t cheat on her. Then she’d be married again. Roderich wouldn’t be invited to that wedding, because he’d cheated on her. 

Even Gilbert wouldn’t have cheated on her. 

Roderich was supposed to perform at a concert overseas, but he’d ignored all the calls he’d received about it and eventually he was told that he’d been replaced with another pianist, whose name he vaguely recognised. Good for them. They’d probably do a better job than him, so it wasn’t much of a loss for anyone involved. The publicity would help this other concert pianist, and perhaps they’d grow in fame and live on in the history books as one of the greats. 

It was fitting that Roderich should sink back into anonymity.

There was nothing left for him, really. Roderich didn’t see the point in letting his wine sit there and fester, so he opened his wine cabinet permanently and attempted to finish everything in one night. When he failed to do so or give himself alcohol poisoning in the process, he tried again the next night. Three nights later he finally got through it all, probably destroying his liver in the process. It was a miracle that he hadn’t drunk himself to death.

And death was all that there was left, wasn’t it? He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his closest friend. He’d lost his job. There was nothing else to do but sit and wait to die.

Roderich wondered what he’d say to Gilbert when they met each other in the afterlife. Perhaps the man had wanted all this to happen. Perhaps he’d laugh and say that Roderich had brought this all on himself. And he wouldn’t be wrong, either. 

In fact, he’d be absolutely right.

\---

His phone buzzed.

Roderich ignored it. More likely than not it was another angry manager, calling to tell him how disappointing his absence was. He didn’t need to see it.

So he continued to eat from the fridge. There wasn’t much left, now – he’d have to go out to buy something. It would be the first time in days that he’d venture outside. But he didn't feel like doing it now; perhaps he’d do it the next day. Yes, he’d do it the next day.

He stumbled to the sofa, reached for the remote controller, and switched on the television. He didn’t care about what he was watching, but he let it drone on all day, filling his house with meaningless noise. Everyone on reality television was an idiot, just like him. It was a surprisingly inclusive route that the producers had taken. Roderich could relate to such stupidity.

The day rolled on, silently, pointlessly. Roderich found some bread and jam in the fridge and it became his dinner. Then he sat back down in front of the television. After that he’d go to bed. This was normal life for him now, and –

A metallic shriek interrupted the television.

It was his doorbell. Honestly, it really was an irritating sound; Roderich should get it changed. Perhaps he’d do it the next day.

The doorbell cried out again.

It was probably just a salesperson. The last time he’d thought he’d gotten a salesperson, he’d been greeted by Basch instead – but now Basch had no reason to visit Roderich for the rest of their lives, so it couldn’t be him –

“Roderich, it’s me!”

He’d recognise that voice anywhere. It was a voice he heard in his deepest nightmares – and nightmares were all that greeted him now, when he closed his eyes – but it was a voice that he loved, that floated through his house sometimes when he yearned for someone who wasn’t there. 

It couldn’t be.

“It’s me, Erzsébet! Open the door!”

Roderich’s heart raced. Perhaps she was simply coming to take all her things that were still in the house. Perhaps she was coming to kick him out. Perhaps –

“Roderich, please come to the door. I know you’re inside.”

She didn’t even sound angry. She couldn’t be – she couldn’t be back. She couldn’t have forgiven him. He didn’t deserve her love, her kindness, her forgiveness. He didn’t deserve her.

Yes, yes, she had to be here for her things. That was the only explanation. The least he could do was to avoid delaying her. 

So Roderich hurried to the door. Yet as he walked, as he moved closer to the woman he’d married, he wondered if she was really there, if the ghost that’d been haunting him for the past two months was finally materialising before his very eyes. To see her again was like a dream come true, and maybe if she didn’t know about the cheating, maybe if she never found out –

But Roderich was tired of lies.

He reached the door. The handle sat there silently, shivering in anticipation, waiting breathlessly for him to take it. If he opened the door, he’d see his wife again. He’d see the person he loved and whom he’d betrayed forever. Perhaps Roderich should run away, far, far away, such that she could never find him. It was better that way. Now that he’d cheated on her divorce was the only option left open to them – there was no forked path in sight, no split road, only a single, steady path towards an inevitable end. If he just reached out, just cut through those few inches of air to see her face, he’d have to tell her what happened, and she’d leave him, and –

He needed to see her again.

Roderich opened the door.

Outside, the sky was pitch-black and starless. The wind breathed a chill into his face, played with his hair and tugged at his shirt – but the moon shone bright over them, gazed calmly down at all the sins and lies and broken hearts of the city, and accepted everything, lovingly, without a sound.

She was standing there, gently illuminated by the dripping moonlight. Her long tumbling hair fluttered in the breeze, trembled in the air for a moment, and fell down against her back once more. Her dress was black and gauzy and touched her knees – it was the only thing about her that Roderich didn’t immediately recognise. Perhaps Feliks had given it to her.

He reached out. Her hand was warm and familiar and real, and when he ran his fingers over it he felt the cold sting of her wedding ring.

Then his wife moved closer to him. One step, two steps – and suddenly he was caught in a tight embrace, his face pushed against her sweet-smelling hair. “Oh, Roderich,” said Erzsébet breathlessly, “I’m so sorry. I’m back now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Several weeks ago this was all he’d wanted to hear. Those words, falling so easily from her lips, would have rebuilt his world around him and eased his fears and made everything beautiful again. But he’d gone too far and done too much and now, even when Erzsébet held him in her arms, Roderich didn’t dare to breathe. No matter what she said now, it was impossible for her to stay forever. She’d leave the moment she found out about his betrayal.

Fate had only one ending in store for him.

Erzsébet entered the house, dragging her suitcase behind her, and shut the door, twisting the lock. “There are so many things that I have to say to you,” she said, looking him up and down, “but you don’t look very good. Have you eaten? I’ll make something for you right – ” 

“It’s alright,” said Roderich quickly. She was back and she was walking around in their house with easy familiarity like she’d always done, just like she’d done in his memories, but it wouldn’t last. His heart hammered in his chest and his eyes burned and he couldn’t look at her. She was so kind. She’d always been so kind. How had someone as stupid and cowardly as him ever deserved someone like her?

Then she was by his side in an instant, and her soft hand was against his cheek, wiping the tears from his eyes before they fell. And it was all too much to bear and Roderich collapsed into her arms, sobbing into her small shoulder, clutching at her waist; and then she was crying too, and they sank to the floor together, incoherent, barely able to form words.

Her body trembled against his. “I’m – so – sorry,” she cried, shrinking into his arms, “It wasn’t – it wasn’t your fault. Gilbert was always – awful to you, and – and you had no reason to like him, or – trust him. If I’d just – told you, if I’d explained, then – then you wouldn’t have hated Gilbert so much, and – ” 

“No,” whispered Roderich, and this was the moment, he had to say it, he had to confess – but the words died on his tongue and no sound escaped his mouth. 

Erzsébet buried her head in his shoulder. “I knew you were jealous,” she said. Her voice was strained from crying, but she’d calmed down a little. “I – I thought it was flattering. I thought it was perfectly normal. But I was being stupid. I thought it was fine if I continued – if I continued acting the way I did before we were married. If I let Gilbert continue to chase me, since – since he couldn’t be convinced to give up. It was easier to let him be. And I still kept going to meet him.” She raised her head to look him in the eye, but Roderich’s chest was impossibly tight and he didn’t meet her gaze. “I’m sorry. I fell in love with you because you treated me with respect. You weren’t like the other men I knew – they never seemed to take me seriously. I should have taken your feelings seriously, Roderich. I’m sorry.”

Roderich’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.

“And I was always hiding things from you,” she said quietly, shifting in his arms. “I was always trying to act a certain way. I wanted to be perfect for you. I wanted to be flawless. I didn’t tell you about what Gilbert did for me because – because the man he saved me from was my uncle. I didn’t want you to know that I had – family problems. I only wanted you to see one side of me.” 

A weighty silence hung heavily in the air between them. Erzsébet had just confessed something important, something that explained everything, something that was of indescribable significance to them both. Yet Roderich didn’t feel fooled, or tricked. For years he’d seen her as peerless and effortlessly kind and beautiful and virtuous – now he was being told that it, or at least part of it, had been an act. It didn’t seem surprising. No living, breathing woman could be a goddess. Somewhere deep down he’d always known that. Somewhere deep down he’d never wanted to acknowledge that. But it didn’t bother him. 

After all, she was still more wonderful than he could ever hope to be.

And yet…

“Roderich – ”

“I have to tell you something.”

The pressure had eased in his chest, and his heartbeat was beginning to slow. There was still no guarantee that Erzsébet wouldn’t leave him immediately upon finding out about his actions. In fact Roderich half-expected it to happen – and if it did she’d be justified in doing so. Yet the fact that his wife was no longer so remotely divine made her a little more fallible, a little more real. She was flawed, just like him – just like Basch, and Gilbert, and everyone else who had made mistakes and said the wrong thing and plummeted into their own personal hell. When one made a mistake, one had to accept the consequences. And Roderich had been running from his own actions for so long.

He was tired of living with lies.

“When you were gone, I cheated on you.”

Erzsébet froze.

Yet her arms were still encircling his body, and her breath was still warm against his neck.

“I thought you were cheating on me,” he said, “because when I was drunk one night I saw the postcards in your room, mistook your affection for romantic love, and assumed the worst of you. I’d always been suspicious of you, and I’d always been jealous of the men you spent time with, because I didn’t feel good enough for you. I was angry. I wanted to hurt you the way you’d hurt me. So I cheated on you.” He paused, waiting for her to react – but Erzsébet didn’t move, and he had one more thing to say.

“I’m sorry.” He poured every cell, every fibre of his being into those two words. 

There was nothing else to say. In a vague, disconnected way Roderich was responsible for Gilbert’s death as well, but Erzsébet had clearly forgiven him for that. It was only now, with her here, that the weight of that early, initial action sank into him – god, there were so many people whom he needed to apologise to, like Basch, like Gilbert. 

But at the moment he only needed one person’s forgiveness.

And Erzsébet pulled him closer against him.

“We’ll have to talk about this,” she said. Her voice wasn’t warm, but at the same time it didn’t seem angry – “And we’ll have to rebuild our relationship. We’ll have to put in effort and hard work to open up to one another. But I love you, Roderich; and I want to stay with you.”

Then the tears were streaming down his face once again and he was sobbing once more, and he was glad, so glad, but so sorry at the same time –

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you so much.”

\---

It was hard work.

There wasn’t any simple, easy way to rebuild a relationship. Erzsébet took time off her job to spend time with Roderich, and he for her. They talked, at length, about what had gone wrong, as storms went raging by and the bright sun emerged from the grey clouds. She taught him how to cook; he taught her how to play the piano. 

Yet even that wasn’t enough.

They went for counselling sessions together, and, taking their counsellor’s advice, went to separate sessions as well. It was frustrating, at times. Everything had been so smooth-sailing two years ago, when Erzsébet had been pretending to be perfect and Roderich had been hiding his insecurities – but despite the pain and the hardship and the sheer drain of it all, they battled on. For despite all the lies and deceptions they loved and respected each other – no matter what happened that feeling was real, solid, unshakable. 

Slowly, but surely, they progressed. 

To truly understand one another for the first time was a simple joy. Somehow Erzsébet was stronger, more wonderful, and more beautiful than Roderich had imagined – she wasn’t perfect, but she’d struggled against her flaws and he admired her for it. No longer was she the distant idol of his worship; now she was a flesh-and-blood woman, his wife and family, a person with good days and bad days, and above all, the woman he loved.

Sometimes he still dwelt on how she was so much better than him; but now Roderich could identify it as a negative thought pattern, one to be corrected and not believed in. All the insecurity and anger that had been tangled like barbed wire around his heart was drawn out agonisingly, displayed painfully for the world to see, and slowly cut free – Roderich wasn’t completely rid of them and probably never would be, but he felt lighter, happier, more carefree.

Perhaps he’d become a better person.

And Roderich and Erzsébet fell in love, all over again.

\---

They ran into Basch outside that café.

Erzsébet was the only person who found the strength to smile and say hello. Instead Roderich and Basch stared at each other, didn’t know what to say, looked away, and kept their silence.

There were a thousand words between them waiting to be said. They trembled on the verge of existence, but as soon as they were thought of they were cast away, discarded, for too much had happened too quickly and too many emotions hung delicately in the balance.

Sensing this, Erzsébet made an excuse, nodded politely at Basch, and left them alone. She’d long since realised who exactly Roderich had cheated on her with. Yet even though the circumstances of the affair hadn’t been made clear to her, Erzsébet hadn’t been upset – “You should talk to him,” she’d urged, as though she’d known instinctively that Roderich and Basch had hurt each other more deeply than either could express.

And though Roderich had tried, Basch had never replied to his messages, or picked up the phone. Almost a year had passed, the seasons shifting swiftly as time flew by – now Basch’s hair was shorter, and his left cheekbone bore a faded scar. 

“Should we get a drink?” asked Roderich. Distantly he remembered the last time they’d met at that café – they’d been friends then and nothing more, and Basch’s sister had seemingly been getting better, and Gilbert had been his old self. It was startling to recall that they were both dead. Two lives, once burning brightly, were now snuffed out forever. Roderich wished he’d known them better.

Basch’s eyes widened for a brief moment – then he nodded, and they stepped into the café. It was warm again, and they sat at the table closest to the air conditioner just like they’d done before. Roderich wondered if Basch remembered the last time they’d visited. It’d seemed so insignificant then, a trivial moment that would be lost to the boundless ocean of time.

But now Roderich wouldn’t ever forget.

“How are you?” he asked, letting his face relax. Basch didn’t immediately reply; the air conditioner hummed in the silence. “Basch?” prompted Roderich.

“I’m fine,” was the wary answer. At one point in his life, Roderich had reduced Basch to a mere body – but now he could see more clearly than ever, and he realised with a dull sadness that Basch hadn’t changed at all. He clung to the same fears, and anxieties, and insecurities – and because Roderich had hurt him Basch’s guard was up and he’d withdrawn into himself once more.

Roderich leaned forward slightly – close enough to show his sincerity, but not so far that Basch would inch away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

They’d both made mistakes, and said and done things to the other that they hadn’t meant, and hurt each other in ways that they couldn’t comprehend. Basch wasn’t a victim, or a villain – he was simply a man, deeply flawed, complicated, no better or worse than any other man. Yet Roderich slowly realised that he wanted to try and understand – perhaps he couldn’t understand Basch’s struggles but he wanted to hear about them, to come to terms with them. 

Something seemed to open up in Basch’s expression. It wasn’t quite forgiveness – yet even simple acceptance was enough. He looked at Roderich sharply, as though he were scrutinising him for some lie, some hidden motive – and then Basch glanced away, looked back, and said, “I’m sorry.”

Sometimes the simplest things were the hardest to say.

Slowly, then less hesitantly, they began to talk. They spoke about the economy, and their plans for the future – it was then that Roderich discovered that Basch had lost his job two days ago.

“It’s alright,” said Basch. “I didn’t like the job, anyway.” Yet his arms were drawing tighter in their knot and he wasn’t quite looking at Roderich when he was speaking. 

“You once told me,” said Roderich, “That you had to be happy.” 

Basch stared at him. There was a deep fatigue in his eyes, those eyes that Roderich had once gazed into and fallen in love with. Roderich had deliberately shifted their conversation to something deeply personal; he didn’t fully expect Basch to even reply. And yet –

“I don’t think anyone can be truly happy in this world,” said Basch.

Roderich’s heart sank. Perhaps something had happened to Basch; something deeply painful, something worse than Roderich’s own poorly chosen words. His old friend lifted his hand to rub the scar on his cheekbone, his expression strained, a wordless struggle on his face. 

“I care about you,” said Roderich. One day almost a year ago he’d said the opposite, and now he had to rectify that mistake. He didn’t know what had occurred in Basch’s life since then; all he was certain of was that it hadn’t been anything pleasant. His rational mind told him that it was impossible for the two of them to regain their friendship – but Roderich wanted to try, nonetheless. He wanted to make up for the past. He wanted to be there for his oldest friend.

There was a glimmer of surprise in Basch’s eyes. When he opened his mouth he hesitated, as though he didn’t quite know what to say, and closed it again.

They finished their drinks, and stood to leave. Only then, at long last, did Basch say, “Thank you.” 

Roderich opened the door for him. “Do you want to drop by here again next Tuesday?” he asked. 

“I’ll think about it,” said Basch softly.

Then he was vanishing, disappearing into the distance, carrying everything that had been left unsaid heavily on his shoulders.

Perhaps he’d never open up again.

But Roderich had to try.

\---

The gravestone was exactly as he’d remembered it.

It was a white slab, perfectly symmetrical, just like any other. “Here lies Gilbert Beilschmidt,” it read; this was followed by his date of birth and death, and then an odd quote.

“The most awesome person in the world.”

Ludwig had chosen it. Roderich had been a friend of Ludwig, once, before Gilbert’s presence in the Beilshmidt house finally dissuaded him from visiting. And then Gilbert had died, and Roderich had been partly responsible for it, and he’d avoided Ludwig for good after that.

He didn’t know what that quote meant to Gilbert. It was certainly a phrase that he’d heard often when the man had been trying to praise himself – but perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was a rallying cry, or self-assurance; perhaps it was some kind of inside joke that had been repeated too often and turned into habit.

None of those options would surprise him. There were many things that he didn’t know about Gilbert; Roderich had never understood the man in life, and in death he was too far gone to provide answers. 

He’d hated Gilbert, once.

But Roderich was a different person now. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d seen only the worst, ugliest sides of Gilbert Beilschmidt. After all, the man was also a loving brother and a courageous, protective boyfriend – Gilbert had only ever presented his flaws to Roderich, but Ludwig and Erzsébet’s love and Roderich’s own faith in the two of them meant that there had to be more to Gilbert than he’d known.

The gravestone was cool under his touch. Roderich wondered if Gilbert could see him, wherever his spirit was now; perhaps Gilbert had been watching over them all along, observing the mistakes and the sin and how it had all collapsed and then been rebuilt. 

Perhaps he hadn’t had any reason to trust Gilbert back then, but Roderich could’ve done so much more. If he’d found it in himself to be kind in that one singular moment, everything could have been avoided. The world would’ve proceeded differently. 

Most importantly, Gilbert himself might have still been alive.

“I’m sorry,” said Roderich.

Then the apology was snatched from his lips as the wind picked up around him – it grabbed at his clothes for a while, tore at his glasses, pulled at his hair –

And then drifted, invisibly, to the skies above.

\---

Their third anniversary was spent at home.

Roderich tried to cook, Erzsébet played a simple piece on the piano, and both endeavours produced imperfect and hilarious results. Yet they were trying, and that was enough – they’d always be trying, and sometimes they wouldn’t succeed, but everything would be fine.

They had each other, and perhaps that was all that they needed.

After Erzsébet’s third attempt to salvage Roderich’s charred pancakes, they sat down and ate what little was left. There was a certain peace in that – he’d never be perfect and neither would she, but they’d accept and love each other despite their flaws, and attempt to improve one another without rebuke.

She smiled at him. The side of her left cheek wrinkled whenever she smiled, and Roderich thought it made her more beautiful.

“I love you,” she said.

Roderich moved over over, slowly, to kiss her on the cheek.

“I love you too,” he said.

Perhaps everything could truly be all right.


End file.
